Embracing The Present
by Murkatroyd
Summary: OneShot. Sequel to Confronting the Past. After learning the shocking truth about his mother from Professor Snape during detention, Harry goes to meet with Professor Dumbledore to ask about a certain other secret. Takes place immediately following previous story.


Disclaimer: The tale of Harry Potter in itself does not belong to this mere author-to-be. It all belongs to its humble creator, Joanne Rowling. What I am doing with it is merely tinkering with it, mapping out an alternate story that I find interesting, while keeping the story as close to its origins as possible. I take absolutely no claim over anything that was originally created by Joanne Rowling. I will personally delete any review or personal message claiming that I do. Let me be clear: I am not here to steal anything. I have gone over my own work again and again to make sure of this. The only articles that I take any claim for are the incantations and characters that I created myself.

Note: Italics will be used for letters, Parseltongue, thoughts and other forms of verbal/non-verbal expression. On a rare occasion, bold tags may be used.

Author's Note: This is a direct sequel to my previous one-shot story, Confronting The Past. Unlike its prequel, this story will be a multi-chapter fanfiction, the working number of chapters currently at around twenty. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 1:** _The Prophecy_

_He was in love with my mother._

This was the singular thought that continued to plague Harry Potter's mind as he made his way back to the common room, taking secret passageways unknown to the general populace of Hogwarts in order to maintain some privacy, to desperately keep hold of his thoughts about the truth that had been hidden from him since he was a baby.

_How could he have been in love with my mother?_

The very idea itself was not what was so ludicrous; in fact, considering the bits and pieces of his and his parents' pasts that he had learned over the last four years, Harry was amazed that he hadn't considered the possibility before. Never once had Severus Snape said one word against his mother – it was an honor that was reserved only for his father and, in Harry's third year, Remus Lupin. There was no need to mention the times that Snape had gone out of his way to save Harry's life, most notably in his first year when Professor Quirrell had tried to kill him.

But – well – it was _Snape_!

Snape, the man who had been horrible to him for four years and interfered with his work as a result, nearly failing him on several occasions. Snape, the greasy-haired git who had only ever insulted Harry's father, never once caring about being slightly more sympathetic to the orphaned son of said father.

Snape, the only person in Hogwarts aside from Ron and Hermione who had ever really stuck his neck out for Harry.

As Harry continued up the steps, he realized that it was this thought, more than anything else, almost as much as even the revelation about Snape's love for Harry's mother, that made Harry realize that he no longer felt hatred for Snape at all.

Snape and James Potter had hated each other; Harry knew this quite well. Dumbledore and Quirrell had both told him so in his first year. Not enough that Snape would ever want Harry dead, but enough that he would belittle James in front of Harry at every opportunity. In his third year, Harry had learned that Snape hated James so much because of a prank that would have resulted in Snape's death if not for James' intervention. Snape had believed that James was in on the prank, and refused to believe otherwise because of his hatred of the messy-haired, arrogant Gryffindor teenager.

Harry had always thought the man as simply petty, but he was now realizing for the first time that it was far beyond that. Snape didn't hate Harry simply because he was the son of Snape's enemy; Snape hated Harry because he was the son of Snape's enemy and the love of Snape's life, a love that apparently still lived within him; the falling out that had caused Lily Evans to end her relationship with Snape forever had not broken Snape's deep feelings of Lily.

The thought was frightening to him. It suddenly occurred to Harry that had Lily not chosen James over Snape, he might not have been born at all. Or, even worse, he might have been born as a son of Snape himself. To his surprise, the thought both disgusted and elated him, for reasons he could not explain to himself. Perhaps he knew and didn't want to think about it.

Perhaps this was all a bad dream, and he would awaken soon, jumbling through ridiculous thoughts of his most hated professor somehow being connected to his mother and a prophecy connecting them -

_The prophecy!_

In all of his confused thoughts and jumbled disbeliefs, Harry had completely forgotten about the prophecy that Snape had told him about. He unscrambled that part of the long conversation out from the confession of Snape's love for his mother and pulled it back to the forefront of his mind, trying to remember exactly what Snape had said ...

_'About a month before you were born, I heard a piece of information that I knew the Dark Lord would want to hear, revolving around the birth of someone with the power to vanquish him.'_

Snape, while still loyal to Voldemort, had gone to him with information that he had apparently overheard somewhere, information regarding the birth of a man or woman would would, evidently, eventually destroy Voldemort. Harry did not even need to think about who that someone would be:

_'He thought it was your family that this prophecy revolved around, and so he targeted the Potters.'_

Voldemort had gone after Harry's family after hearing about the prophecy, and they had somehow eluded him for over a year before he had finally gotten to them with Peter Pettigrew's help. Snape had gone to Albus Dumbledore, who had done everything in his power to ensure that Voldemort never found Harry and his parents.

With a shocked gasp, Harry fell back against the wall halfway up the steps between the fifth and sixth floor, still in the hidden passageway, unable to believe what he was now processing, what he had learned not even thirty minutes before ... he pulled himself up on the ledge in front of the window, clutching his forehead with one hand, pushing back pain not from his scar, but from his own mind ...

It explained everything, this confession: why Voldemort had gone after Harry in the first place, why he had killed Harry's parents, why he had tried to spare Lily Potter before killing her anyway, and in return nearly ended his own life when he had turned his wand on Harry ... finally, Harry had some small understanding of Voldemort's motive to kill him, that it wasn't simply out of irrational evil as so many believed, as Hagrid had once told him ...

Was this what Dumbledore had decided not to tell Harry all those years ago, mere days after Harry's first real confrontation with his parents' murderer? Harry remembered that he had asked Dumbledore while lying in the hospital wing, more than three years ago now ...

_'Well ... Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?'_

_'Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day ... put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older ... I know you hate to hear this ... when you are ready, you will know.'_

Part of Harry could understand the reasoning – at eleven years of age, he was surely too young to comprehend the knowledge that he had powers even Voldemort feared – but another part of him resented Dumbledore for not telling him, not providing him the closure he needed, not explaining why his life was as bleak as it was. He was fifteen now, had faced Lord Voldemort more times than almost any other non-Dark wizard alive, and fully believed he was ready for the information he had been so curious about for almost four years.

He would have to go to Dumbledore sooner or later, find out about this prophecy business and whether its merit was real or not. He didn't doubt Severus Snape, but this night had not brought him, yet, to fully trust Snape either. With a firm nod, he decided that he would go see Dumbledore after his detention tomorrow.

One more question remained: who had made the prophecy in the first place, and why?

* * *

"Harry, what are you doing back so early?"

Harry shook his head as he walked into the common room five minutes later. It was Hermione who had asked the question, and he could see Ron and Ginny sitting with her, waiting for him to speak, both sets of eyes questioning.

He looked at his watch; it was only seven o'clock. It had been half an hour since he had left Snape's quarters, and yet it felt as though he had learned of this bizarre confession a lifetime ago.

"Snape postponed the detention," said Harry, glad that he could at least be truthful on one point.

To his surprise – though he could have hit himself upon realizing how carelessly he had thrown the comment out – three shocked faces greeted that answer.

"Snape _postponed_ detention?"

"Yeah," said Harry distractedly, sitting next to Ginny on the couch in front of the fireplace and staring into the flames; try as he might, he couldn't distract himself from his thoughts enough to give his three friends his attention. "I have detention tomorrow night instead."

Unfortunately, against Harry's wishes, Ron didn't drop the point.

"_Snape_, as in _Severus Snape_, the greasy-haired git, the bane of our existence, did what could be considered a favor to you?" he sputtered out; Hermione's eyes narrowed, while Ginny giggled. "No way."

"I'm here now, aren't I?" muttered Harry, half-amused, half-irritated; somehow, irrationally, he didn't like the way Ron had just insulted Snape – but then, what reason would Ron have to _not_ do so? Ron, after all, hadn't heard what Harry had heard ... and he never would, as Harry had promised Snape ...

_'You will inform nobody of this, including your friends, Weasley and Granger.'_

He was going to honor his word to Snape. He wasn't going to tell anyone. No one else had the right, or even the need, to know about it anyway. More importantly, though, Harry had a feeling that if he told Ron and Hermione, Snape would find out almost immediately – he had always had that funny feeling that Snape could read minds.

"It does seem rather odd," said Hermione suspiciously. "Did he tell you why, Harry?"

"No," Harry lied. "I'm sure he had his reasons, though."

He hoped that with these words the conversation would end, and sure enough, both Ron and Hermione dropped the subject, though both did so with reluctance; Ron looked as though he wanted to continue cursing Snape's name, while Hermione continued looking at Harry suspiciously, as though she knew he was hiding something from them.

Harry knew it wouldn't simply end here. Hermione would eventually bring the subject up again; she always did. As long as Harry had known her, Hermione had that curiosity that knew no boundaries, even if she had nothing to do with the situation.

Thoughts of Hermione were pushed once again from his mind as the events from barely one hour before once again brought themselves to the forefront of his mind. Pieces of the conversation with Snape came back to his thoughts, connecting themselves with pieces of information that he already knew to form the completed puzzle that was the truth. Unfortunately, he was still missing many pieces.

_'I went straight to Albus Dumbledore, and begged him to protect her.'_

Dumbledore had known about the Potters going into hiding; he had told them so the night that Sirius and Peter Pettigrew revealed themselves. He had said that he had given evidence to Sirius being the Secret-Keeper for the Potters. He must not have known that Wormtail was the true Secret-Keeper ...

_'I had begged the Dark Lord to spare Lily, feeling no care for Potter, and so he had promised to.'_

Harry could not deny that he had been outraged at first upon hearing that Snape couldn't have cared less whether James Potter lived or died; but he had then remembered that there was no one in the world that Snape hated more than James Potter, and Harry could not deny that he likely wouldn't care if, say, Draco Malfoy, someone Harry hated in turn, was sent to his death if it meant sparing a woman Harry loved that happened to be with Malfoy. He couldn't hate Snape for being human about love and hate, no matter how much he might want to try ...

_'He asked me to help him protect you, in the name of Lily.'_

It made sense. Dumbledore had once told Harry, the same day he had refused to tell Harry of this supposed prophecy that Snape had mentioned, that Snape had tried to save Harry so many times in his first year because of his life debt to James Potter, but Harry knew now that this was not, had never been, the case at all ... he had been trying to save Lily's son, not James', which Snape had apparently struggled for years to see Harry as but never quite succeeded in doing ...

_'About a month before you were born, I heard a piece of information that I knew the Dark Lord would want to hear ...'_

But who had been the one to deliver that information? Who had made the prophecy that Snape had overheard? Was it someone Harry knew, perhaps, someone who had delivered prophecies before then? Someone who could perhaps predict the future accurately ...

The thought died in his head as Harry jolted upright in his seat, suddenly remembering how a similar prediction had been made the day that Sirius' innocence and Peter Pettigrew's true identity had been discovered, and how the events had been foretold by that prediction:

_'__It will happen tonight. The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight ... the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was. Tonight ... before midnight ... the servant ... will set out ... to rejoin ... his master..._ _'_

It had been Professor Trelawney who had made that prediction more than a year before, who had been in a trance-like state while making it, and who had not recalled a single moment of the prediction after making it. Harry remembered it well; it was after his Divination test.

The memory brought another memory of Trelawney forth, just days after this prediction, when Harry and Dumbledore had spoken after the fact:

_'Was it – was she making a real prediction?'_

_'Do you know, Harry, I think she might have been. Who'd have thought it? That brings her total of real predictions up to two. I should offer her a pay rise ...'_

It was a comment in their conversation that Dumbledore had made that had seemed innocent, almost inconsequential, that Harry had simply overlooked it, at the time too worried about Sirius and Remus Lupin to care ... but now he remembered, and now he knew that the prophecy Snape had told Harry about was made by Professor Trelawney ... _for Professor Dumbledore._

It was this secret that Dumbledore had decided not to tell Harry at the end of his first year; Harry was absolutely certain of it. But he needed to know what the prophecy said. He needed to know exactly why Voldemort had come after him when he was only a year old.

Abandoning his resolve to see Dumbledore the next evening, Harry got to his feet and walked toward the Fat Lady's portrait, ignoring his friends' questions – "Where are you going?" "Harry?" - and marching straight through the hole, swinging the portrait closed behind him and further ignoring the Fat Lady's protests.

* * *

It only took Harry until he had reached the grand staircase to realize that he didn't know the password to Dumbledore's office, and so he changed his course and headed to Professor McGonagall's office instead.

He knew it was a long shot. Professor McGonagall, his Head of House, was intensely loyal to Dumbledore and would likely refuse Harry entrance to his office, even if she knew why Harry wanted to go there; she had, after all, not believed Harry for a moment when he had gone to her in his first year and told her that someone – who, at the time, he had believed to be Snape – was going to steal the Philosopher's Stone that night. A fleeting thought passed through his head, that he could possibly go to Professor Snape and ask him to provide the password to Dumbledore's office, but he banished the thought as quickly as it had come up; just one hour before, Snape had been too depressed to even begin the detention. No, he would leave Snape alone for the time being, until his detention the following evening.

He had reached the fourth floor before he was interrupted.

"Potter?"

Harry spun around, alarmed, and relaxed as he saw Professor Flitwick making his way toward him from a perpendicular corridor.

"Hi, Professor," said Harry embarrassedly, rubbing a hand through his hair absently. "I didn't see you coming."

"Something I hear quite often," said the tiny wizard with a small grin, waving off Harry's embarrassment. "Where are you going, Potter? Students don't normally roam the halls at this hour."

"I'm sorry, Professor, I was just going to see Professor McGonagall to ask her for the password to Professor Dumbledore's office –"

"You have some business with the Headmaster?" Professor Flitwick asked a little suspiciously, his grin faltering marginally.

"Yes, sir," said Harry a little nervously. "It's about something he and I talked about a few months ago, right after ... um, Cedric Diggory's death ..."

It was a lie, and Harry had no idea why he had chosen it; then again, Harry knew that he and Dumbledore had brushed the subject every year since he had started at Hogwarts, and so he justified himself knowing it was not a complete lie. Nevertheless, he felt a little guilty and chose to not look Flitwick in the eye.

"Very well, Mr Potter." It did not escape Harry's notice that Flitwick's voice left a little disbelief in its tone, though he did not comment to the contrary. "I would normally tell you to see your Head of House instead, but if your business is with Dumbledore and not Minerva, then ..."

He trailed off, then looked at Harry directly.

"The password is Pumpkin Pasty. Try not to stay out until after curfew. Good night, Potter."

"Good night, Professor, and thank you."

Professor Flitwick nodded once, then turned and walked away the same way he had come. Harry continued the same way he had been going before, continued down to the third floor and walked the stretch of hallway that led to Dumbledore's office; he could see the large gargoyle that guarded the spiral staircase to the office just twenty feet away now.

He stopped in his tracks, wondering what to do next. How was Dumbledore going to react when Harry told him that he knew about the prophecy, even if he didn't know exactly what the prophecy said? Harry knew that Dumbledore had intended to eventually be the one to explain to Harry exactly why Voldemort wanted Harry dead so badly – and the keyword here was _eventually_, as it had been more than three years since Harry had first asked – and now Harry knew part of the reason without Dumbledore's help. He knew that Dumbledore knew that Snape knew about the prophecy; he could not possibly see Dumbledore _not_ knowing that. Should he just tell Dumbledore outright that he knew about the prophecy, and wanted to know exactly what it said? Should he ask Dumbledore the same question he had asked him in his first year without revealing that he knew about the prophecy, and then tell him that he knew of its existence?

Deciding that he was stressing himself out worrying about how to talk to Dumbledore, the man he was closest with in Hogwarts anyway, Harry decided to go on instinct alone with the conversation to come. Having made his decision, he continued down the corridor, stopping in front of the gargoyle.

"Pumpkin Pasty," said Harry clearly.

"If you say so," muttered the gargoyle, stepping to the side to allow Harry entrance.

Harry gulped as he stepped onto the spiral staircase, as nervous as he had been three years ago when Professor McGonagall had brought him to Dumbledore's office during the Chamber of Secrets mess when he had been suspected as the Heir of Slytherin. Dumbledore had known right away, though, that he was not the one attacking fellow students, had known that something else was at work in the school ... perhaps he had known that it was Tom Riddle's memory attacking the school through Ginny Weasley before Harry himself had ...

The staircase stopped at the door to the office, and Harry knocked twice on the door, his insides threatening to fall apart within him.

"Enter," came Albus Dumbledore's voice.

Gulping again, Harry opened the door and stepped into the office he had been in several times before, most recently when he had relayed to Dumbledore that Lord Voldemort had returned to a living body. Nothing had changed in the last few months; the silver instruments remained scattered on different tables about the office, Fawkes remained on his perch, and Dumbledore's desk remained on the other side of the office next to the window, with Dumbledore himself staring at his visitor over his half-moon spectacles as he always did.

"Harry, my boy!" greeted Dumbledore with genuine surprise, rising to his feet behind the desk; it did not escape Harry's notice that he did not look him directly in the eye, and Harry suddenly remembered that Dumbledore had, for the last few months, been avoiding direct contact with him. He had completely forgotten due to the events of the evening; his uncertainty with speaking to Dumbledore tonight suddenly doubled. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir," Harry began, stepping into the office with uncertainty in both his voice and his movement, which Dumbledore did not miss, "but I was hoping I could speak to you about ... private matters ..."

"Of course, of course," said Dumbledore, waving a hand at the chair in front of his desk that Harry had sat in many times, "I can finish this report later – please, sit down!"

Harry sat down on the offered seat with clear hesitation; now that he was facing Dumbledore, his plan to simply bring up the subject with the aged headmaster seemed foolish, idiotic, as though he were eleven years old all over again and simply not ready to hear what he wanted desperately to hear. If Dumbledore noticed his hesitation, he did not show it as he took his seat as well.

"What can I do for you, Harry?" asked Dumbledore gently, his blue eyes sparkling as they always did as they peered over his clasped hands.

Harry decided to just ask the question and ignore his nerves.

"I'm not really sure how to ask this, sir," he began hesitantly, faltering slightly, but Dumbledore waved him on and he continued, "but do you remember when I was in the hospital wing at the end of my first year, and you came to visit me?"

The look in Dumbledore's eyes changed slightly, though his voice was still calm and gentle as he replied, "I do recall. Please continue."

"It was after I – well – faced Voldemort, when he was possessing Quirrell. I had asked why Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby, and you said that, since I was too young at the time, I wasn't –"

"– yet ready to deal with the knowledge," finished Dumbledore, nodding sagely.

"Yes, sir," said Harry, knowing that this was the moment, that he would lose his resolve if he waited any longer to ask. "Did the reason have anything to do with a prophecy?"

Harry didn't know if Dumbledore was expecting a certain question from him, but Dumbledore looked almost shocked as he rose from his seat a bit, staring directly at Harry for the first time since the end of his fourth year.

"How did you find out?" Dumbledore asked, his voice neither accusatory nor warm; he seemed genuinely surprised by what he had just been told.

"Well, that's why it's private," said Harry quietly, now trying not to meet Dumbledore's eyes. "Professor Snape told me."

This shocked Dumbledore even more; his eyes were glinting madly with this revelation.

"_Severus_ told you? When?"

"A little more than an hour ago," Harry replied, his nerves beginning to ease now that he was sure Dumbledore wasn't going to start yelling at him; he was beginning to wonder why he had believed such in the first place. "I had detention with Professor Snape because I messed up a potion during class, and he asked me why I'm rarely able to make potions properly, and I told him it was because he's always making comments about my father, and then how I realized that –"

"– that Professor Snape has never said a word against your mother," Dumbledore finished for him, putting his face in his hands and rubbing wearily.

"Yes, sir," said Harry nervously, worried that he had said too much.

Dumbledore raised his head up again a few moments later and, to Harry's surprise, was smiling more brightly than he had seen in a long time.

"You are not in any trouble with me, Harry," Dumbledore assured him, placing his folded hands on the table and smiling, if at all possible, even brighter. "If I were to be perfectly honest, I simply never expected that Severus would come clean about his history with your mother to you – he told you, I assume, that I knew about it?"

"Yes, sir," Harry repeated, staring at his own hands now; though he was relieved that Dumbledore was not taking the knowledge badly, he was still troubled. "Professor, how come you never told me that my mother had once been friends with Snape?"

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry," corrected Dumbledore, "and, to answer your question, for two similar yet different reasons: one, the matter was a personal one between your mother and Professor Snape, and two, because when he agreed to help me protect you after your parents died, he asked me to keep the knowledge of his deep love for your mother secret from everyone. I kept my promise and told nobody."

Dumbledore blinked, taking in Harry's troubled expression.

"Do you resent him, Harry?"

"I ... don't know," Harry admitted, and he knew he was being completely honest with Dumbledore when he said it. "I feel as though I should – I mean, he sent Voldemort after my family over this prophecy business, but he didn't know it was my family ... but he still sent Voldemort to track down, to kill, someone else just because they might be a threat ..."

"You are not wrong to feel this way, Harry," said Dumbledore gently, leaning over his desk and staring directly into Harry's eyes now. "I, too, was rather disgusted to discover that Severus had gone to Voldemort with his knowledge of the prophecy and, thus, was indirectly responsible for whatever happened next. When he found out that Lord Voldemort was hunting down you and your parents, he came to me, desperate to save Lily Potter, uncaring of what would happen to you and your father if Voldemort found you. Despite his efforts to save your mother, Voldemort still killed her when she refused to give you up to him and, because of that, Professor Snape is indirectly responsible for the deaths of both your parents."

"That's the problem," said Harry, rubbing his forehead absently as he spoke, "I want to hate him for that, but I can't bring myself to. I don't know why." He paused. "Was this the reason Professor Snape changed sides, gave up being a Death Eater? Was this the reason you've always trusted him so much?"

"Yes to both," said Dumbledore. "When Professor Snape came to me with the news that Lily Potter and her family were in danger from Voldemort, he begged me to help protect her and I agreed to do so – for something in return. From that day forward, Severus Snape ceased to truly be a Death Eater, and joined the Order of the Phoenix as a spy from within the ranks of the Death Eaters. When Voldemort was vanquished that fateful Halloween night, I offered to protect Professor Snape from Azkaban by making it known that he had helped our side, and that is why he became a teacher at Hogwarts."

Harry remembered this much; he had seen in the Pensieve just six months before, during Igor Karkaroff's trial, that Dumbledore had pronounced Snape's change of allegiance "at great personal risk." Hearing this, however, made him feel better than he had felt for the last hour and a half.

"So, you mentioned that Professor Snape brought up the prophecy in his conversation with you?" said Dumbledore calmly; it was a statement, not a question, and Harry readily took it for what it was.

"Yes, sir," he replied, unable to keep a small bite of bitterness out of his voice. "He said that it was the reason Voldemort came after my family in the first place."

"That is the truth, Harry," said Dumbledore, "loathe as I am to admit it. Did he reveal to you the contents of the prophecy?"

"No, sir. It sort of came up in passing when he was explaining about his history with my mother."

"I see," said Dumbledore serenely, holding his wand to his temple and pulling a short strand of silver from it, dropping it into a conjured beaker. "What Professor Snape didn't know at the time, however, was that there was more to the prophecy than what he heard – he had been discovered eavesdropping and was apprehended while the remainder of the prophecy was recited, therefore unable to hear the more crucial contents after the first half."

Harry considered this for a moment; it seemed to make sense.

"It was Professor Trelawney who made the prophecy, wasn't it?"

He was still unable to believe that the fraud who had predicted his death several dozens of times was the one who had predicted his birth and how it would be an impediment to Voldemort. It seemed ridiculous, almost impossible; and yet it made sense, considering Harry had seen for himself how one of Sybill Trelawney's trance-like predictions had already come to pass.

"Yes, indeed," said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry now. "I'm glad to see that you worked that out on your own."

"It took a little while," Harry admitted, running a hand through his locks wearily. "I remembered something you told me the day Professor Lupin resigned, about the prediction that Professor Trelawney made – the one about Voldemort and his servant. You said it was only the second real prediction she ever made."

Dumbledore chuckled.

"I must admit, Harry, I never expected you to see that comment for what it was, but you are correct: Sybill Trelawney was the one who made the prophecy."

"But how did it come up?" asked Harry, genuinely confused on the matter. "Snape told me that he overheard Trelawney making the prophecy, and I know it was made to you, but why were the three of you all in the same place together?"

"I had not expected _Professor_ Snape" – here, Dumbledore once again emphasized the term 'professor', and Harry managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes – "to be eavesdropping on my meeting with Professor Trelawney, to be completely honest. He overheard us at the Hog's Head, you see, during an interview I had with Professor Trelawney for the position of Divination teacher. I must confess that, had she not made the prophecy, I would most likely have declined her application ..."

Harry grinned at this; it was clear that Dumbledore thought as little of the subject as he, Ron, Hermione and Professor McGonagall did.

"... however, I knew right away that the prophecy was genuine, and from that, I knew that Sybill must have, if only a little, some amount of her ancestor's Seer powers within her. I chose to give her the chance to prove herself. When I discovered that Voldemort knew of the prophecy, my decision became permanent in order to protect her just in case Voldemort knew that she had created the prophecy, which I chose to believe extremely likely."

"I understand," said Harry quietly, his grin faded. He was still taking it all in, everything that had been hidden from him for so long. "I just can't believe that Professor Trelawney of all people was the reason Voldemort came after me in the first place."

"You mustn't think of it in that regard, Harry," said Dumbledore firmly. "Sybill never knew that she had made the prophecy; her role in Voldemort's attack in your family is indirect and rather minuscule."

"I know, I know," muttered Harry, worried that he had spoken out of turn, though Dumbledore showed no signs of anger. "It's just hard to take in, sir. Before last June, I never realized just how badly Voldemort wants me dead." He paused before continuing. "You said that Voldemort never knew the second half of the prophecy?"

"That is correct. Severus was interrupted by the barman of the Hog's Head halfway through the prophecy and was unable to relay the full prophecy to Voldemort, only the portion that he had heard before Aberforth apprehended him – which proved, in fact, to be a mistake that Voldemort only barely lived to regret. You will soon see why."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean that I am going to show you the prophecy in full, as Sybill relayed to me; now that you know about it, I feel that it is only right that you know exactly what it says."

Harry said nothing. A budding fear was building up inside of him, a fear that he was about to learn something that he did not want to hear, that he had been subconsciously dreading at a minor level for most of his time at Hogwarts ...

With a short flick of his wand, Dumbledore brought the Pensieve onto the desk before him; another flick and the beaker he had placed one of his memories within floated over the Pensieve and emptied its contents within. As the silvery fluid swirled around within the Pensieve, Dumbledore tapped the surface with his wand and something began to rise out of it, a transparent, gaseous figure ... first head, then torso and finally legs, and Harry recognized instantly from the large glasses on its face that he was looking at Sybill Trelawney.

She did not notice them, as Harry knew she wouldn't; this transparent figure was a memory from before he was born. Her eyes made her look as though she were in a trance, and when she spoke, it was with the same tone that Harry had only heard once before, during her prediction of Voldemort rising again:

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have powers the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."_

As the final words echoed through the room, the floating figure of Professor Trelawney fell back into the Pensieve and the room went silent.

Seconds turned into minutes and still no words were said; both men present were too preoccupied with their own thoughts to speak to the other. Harry was playing and replaying the words over and over in his head, piecing together what he had heard with what had happened thus far in his life, and he slowly realized what it meant, and dreaded the idea that he was right.

Finally, after an eternity of approximately seven and a half minutes had elapsed, Harry looked up again, his eyes wide in a mix of shock and pleading.

"Professor?" He hesitated. "Does that mean what – what I think it means?"

"That depends entirely on what you think it means," said Dumbledore, his voice now rather quiet. He did not meet Harry's eyes.

"It sounds as though ... I think it means – I have to kill Voldemort, or vice-versa."

Now was the moment to find out whether he was right, which he hoped dearly against, or wrong.

"I'm afraid you're right, Harry," said Dumbledore, his voice filled with regret. He met Harry's eyes as he continued, "There was a time when it might not have been you, but due to Voldemort's actions, there is no longer any doubt that you are the one marked by – and destined to kill – Lord Voldemort."

"Who else was there?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself.

"One other wizard child who was born as the seventh month dies to parents who have thrice defied the Dark Lord," replied Dumbledore. "Neville Longbottom."

"It could have been Neville? But – why did he choose me, then?"

"To be honest, Harry, there is no known answer to that question without asking Lord Voldemort himself; we can only speculate as to why." Dumbledore scratched his chin thoughtfully as he spoke. "I am of the opinion that he chose you because you, like he, are a half-blood, while Neville is pure-blooded. Perhaps Voldemort even saw a bit of himself in you; at any rate, regardless of the whys on the matter, Voldemort chose to attack you instead of Neville, and so erased the possibility of Neville being one of the prophesized children."

Harry remained silent for a second, going over the second half of the prophecy over and over in his head, the part that Voldemort had never learned ... _but he will have powers the Dark Lord knows not_ ... what did it mean? What possible powers could Harry have that Lord Voldemort, a wizard who had graduated Hogwarts, created an army of Dark wizards around himself and ensured that the wizarding world as a whole feared even his name all before Harry had even been born, did not have?

_Neither can live while the other survives_ ...

This was another part that Harry did not understand. How was it that neither Harry nor Voldemort could live while the other survived? Both Harry and Voldemort had faced hardships since that fateful Halloween night, but both had survived the Killing Curse – the _Avada Kedavra –_ that night. They had both lived.

Or ... was that not what the prophecy meant? Did it mean that Harry would live, but not a true life? It simply didn't make sense, not yet.

"If I may, Harry ..." Dumbledore began. Harry shrugged. "I can see that the contents of the prophecy are confusing you, even now that you understand the main idea behind it. I want you to know – this is why I did not tell you that day, when you were lying in the hospital wing after your confrontation with Voldemort. You were not ready, you couldn't be. Even now I remain unsure if revealing to you the full contents of the prophecy was wise, but there was no choice; you were aware of its existence, and knowing of something but not understanding it is, in the eyes of this old teacher, an inexcusable thing."

Harry nodded, not really listening; his mind was still swarming from the knowledge that he would have to kill or be killed, and he was not optimistic enough to believe that this confrontation to decide his fate, and indeed the fate of the rest of the wizarding world, would not take place soon. Eventually Voldemort would get to him again, and he was not sure he could fight Voldemort off again after being lucky so many times.

"You will be fine, Harry," Dumbledore said in the most assuring tone Harry had ever heard. "Trust me."

"I do trust you, Professor," said Harry finally, breaking his silence and raising his head to meet Dumbledore's gaze. He couldn't keep all of the fear out of his eyes, however, and Dumbledore immediately picked up on it.

"I'm glad to hear it," said Dumbledore with relief. "It has worried me ever since you returned to the wizarding world at the age of eleven that I would lose your trust upon telling you why Voldemort wants you dead."

Harry didn't answer; he didn't know what to say. Just as he wanted to hate Severus Snape for the role Snape had played in the deaths of his parents, he wanted to hate Dumbledore for – as he knew it now – the many ways that Dumbledore had manipulated his life, starting from the moment he had left Harry at the Dursleys. The fact of the matter, however, was that he couldn't do it. He couldn't hate either man now that he knew how much both men had done to protect him. But there was still the one issue, now that he thought of it ...

"Is this why you left me with the Dursleys?" he asked with a small bit of bitterness. "Because of the prophecy?"

Almost at once, the smile on Dumbledore's face fell away again; for the first time since Harry had walked into the office almost half an hour ago, Dumbledore looked regretful.

"I know what you must be thinking, Harry," he began slowly, his voice filled with some kind of emotion that Harry didn't immediately recognize. He pulled out his wand and stared at it, and Harry recognized it as a means of not having to look at him as he spoke. "I know that you must think I condemned you to a hard life with your aunt and her family, a life that sometimes seems to not be worth living in your young eyes. Please, do not say anything" – he held up his hand that wasn't holding the wand just as Harry opened his mouth to interrupt – "do not try and deny my words; it is as plain as day, written on your face. I know what you must think – but you must believe me, Harry, when I say that I did not know the extent to which your aunt's grudge against magic would extend. At the time, your safety was more important to me than your welfare, and the magic that your mother's sacrifice left behind would ensure that while you lived with your family, Voldemort and his Death Eaters could not touch you. I had believed that she would raise you as I had hoped you would be raised – not in a home where you would grow up surrounded by your fame and your legacy as the heroic child who banished Lord Voldemort and ended the war, but as a normal boy, or at least as normal as I could hope for – but I was wrong, as Hagrid reported to me that day after bringing you to Diagon Alley. I crave your pardon for that, Harry. I was able to protect you from Dark wizards, but I was not able to protect you from your family"

Harry nodded. He could not deny still being a little bitter about the life he had grown up in, but the past was the past and he wasn't going to hold it against Dumbledore, one of the only people alive he still trusted.

"I understand, Professor," he eventually said, rubbing his forehead absently; his scar was prickling again as it so often did in the last few months since Voldemort's rebirth. He stood up. "Thank you for telling me about the prophecy."

"Do you forgive me, Harry?" Dumbledore asked him, rising to his feet as well. The two wizards stared at one another over the desk, neither motioning to move. "I do not wish for there to be resentment between us. I realize that I have ... distanced myself from you in the last few months, but I realize now that I was wrong to do so and I hope that we can put that past us."

"There's nothing to forgive," said Harry quietly. "You said it yourself: you didn't know. I don't resent you for it, I resent them. But if I go to the Dursleys because of the prophecy, because of the protection my mother's sacrifice gives me ... I can put my resentment of them aside if it means staying alive. Don't be sorry for protecting me."

Dumbledore looked relieved at the words, and Harry realized right then that his headmaster had actually been worried about losing the bond that the two of them had created since Harry's first year, the master-and-pupil relationship of sorts that existed between them – it was almost like a friendship in some ways, almost like what he and Remus Lupin had when his former professor had still been at Hogwarts.

"You may leave if you wish, Harry," said Dumbledore softly. "I am certain that you have a lot to think about tonight between the revelation of the prophecy and the revelation of your mother's friendship with Professor Snape and his love for her. I can only hope that you do not hold his selfishness against him – he is, as we are, human."

"I understand," said Harry with a curt nod. "Good night, Professor."

"Good night, Harry."


End file.
